


Breed Standards

by daintily



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, So Many Dogs, jean is bad at things, mentions of animal abuse, more characters to be added as the appear, way too many dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-25
Packaged: 2017-12-29 02:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daintily/pseuds/daintily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jean responds to an ad looking for a private dog walker, he assumes a few things. Naturally, approximately nothing he assumes turns out to be true. Which might not be so bad, because the dogs are cute and awesome and their owner Marco is even cuter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because my friend is a dirty enabler and I couldn't get the thought of Jean being dragged along by dogs out of my mind. This is also my first foray into SnK fic so...approach with caution I guess! 
> 
> Anyways, some basic info: Jean is about 20 years old, Marco is a few years older than him, and the accident that left him scarred up happened only about two years before the time the fic takes place.
> 
> Also, the title is dreadful and lame but none of Marco's dogs meet their breed standards so I'm going to justify myself forever. (It's marginally better than the working title of "let there be doge".)

Jean Kirschtein was almost one-hundred percent certain that answering that Craigslist ad was a bad idea. Of course, there were a lot of occasions where answering ads was an awful, terrible idea, because there were creeps everywhere and you could never be too careful.

But Jean had been optimistic. It had seen like a simple enough request - some random man named Marco had put up an ad looking for a dog walker. Which...was honestly a bit strange to Jean. (Why would one person need a dog walker? Weren’t there services you could just take your dog to or whatever?) He wasn’t about to question it, though. While loans and grants (all of them merit based, thank you very much) covered his tuition and housing and meal plans, there wasn’t much left over and he wanted to make _some_ money. He could have attempted to get a job, but he was almost certain that he would die from the combined workloads.

So, he went to Craigslist, to see if there was something he could do on the weekends to make some cash, and he saw Mysterious-Man-Named-Marco’s ad for a dog walker, called him, and after a brief conversation that pretty much boiled down to “when are you free okay that’s good you can come on over and we can see how it goes”. 

Now Jean was in front of Marco’s house, and he was beginning to regret everything. There was no way anything _good_ could come from this house. It was small and worn, with some things that were so new it seemed out of place, like someone was trying their best to keep the house from falling apart at the seams. The grass was just a tad overgrown, and there were weeds popping up all over the yard. The fence he could see was gray and just as worn as the house, and he felt like he should just turn around and leave and pretend he had gotten lost or that he had been suddenly swamped with some massive research paper and sorry Mysterious-Man-Named-Marco but he had to dedicate himself to this because it would impact his future. 

He could do that, but as he stood there and stared up at the small house he knew that he wouldn’t. He would take a deep breath, step forward, and ring the doorbell. Before Mystery-Marco opened the door he knew he was dooming himself to his fate, but that was okay. 

What he didn’t know just yet was how different Marco would be from his expectations, and how surprisingly okay he would be with this gig.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco and Jean finally meet wowowow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: I held off on posting the prologue for a few days so I could finish this. It's still really short, but I figured two shortish things = more fun and entertainment?! Also, if you ever want to talk about dogs or such like, you can find me at spookoniiku.tumblr.com!

Marco Bodt was nothing like Jean had imagined him to be. He had heard the man’s voice over their brief phone call, but the image it had conjured up in him (that had then been warped by the man’s kind of crappy house) was nothing like who he actually _was_.

He was tall - taller than Jean at the very least - and he had short dark, almost black hair and an obnoxious amount of freckles. He would have been very handsome, if it wasn’t for the scars that covered the right side of his face and stretched down his neck and under his shirt. He wore an eyepatch and his right shirt sleeve was pinned up, but what struck Jean the most was his smile. It distorted the scars on his face and seemed like more of a half grimace, just a bit, but it was still the warmest, gentlest smile Jean had seen in years. 

Idly, he noticed that he was just staring at the man, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Would it be impolite to hold out a hand for a handshake? The man only had one arm and it was currently holding the door open, but before he could do anything else Marco was tilting his head, motioning for him to come outside. It took an embarrassingly long time for his legs to actually get with the program and bring him inside, but Marco didn’t address it. Maybe he didn’t notice, or maybe he was just too nice to point out things like that. 

(And considering his, you know, scars and lack of arm Jean figured that he wouldn’t be the type of guy to point things out, but that might be assuming too much.)

“Did you have any trouble getting here?” 

Jean almost doesn’t realize the other man was speaking, and he nods dumbly before noticing that Marco had turned his back to him and was walking across the living room. He clears his throat and mutters out a “no”, looking around. Despite the houses rundown exterior, the inside was...kind of nice. There was a small entry way that had some shows lined up along the wall, as well as a coat rack that seemed to have been downgraded to a leash holder. It opened into what Jean assumed was the living room, and there was a large, comfy looking couch and a handful of arm chairs, as well as some large pillows and dog beds pushed into the corner farthest from the small TV. Everywhere Jean looked, he could see the sign of dogs. There were toys everywhere, from tied ropes used for tug-of-war to balls to small plushes that no doubt contained the exact same obnoxious squeaky thing. 

Despite all of that, Jean didn’t see any dogs. 

He trailed on after Marco anyways, being led through a small kitchen with way too many food and water bowls to count with a glance, and he stopped at the sliding glass door. 

He had found the dogs.

There were several of them, bouncing and barking, like they knew there was someone new who had to take them out and they couldn’t contain themselves. There were dogs of all shapes and sizes, from the tiniest chihuahua Jean had ever seen to an imposing mastiff that stood at the back of the crowd. He wasn’t expecting this. He looks at Marco, raising his eyes at the man who’s looking more and more nervous by the second. He huffs out a breath, finding the worry on the man’s face more amusing than it should be, and he motions at the door. It sets the dogs into a frenzy, because they were excited to be noticed. Or something. “So, am I getting paid per dog?”

Marco blinks, and then laughs, shaking his head as he pulls open the glass door and unleashes the swarm. The dogs are surprisingly well behaved for how excited they seem, and at least Jean doesn’t get bowled over. “Maybe if some of them are more difficult than others, I suppose.” 

“Fair enough.” Jean crouches down, ruffling the ears of a pitbull that then promptly licks his face. He’s noticing quickly that...there’s something about these dogs. Asides from the two pitbulls he has and the fierce looking mastiff that doesn’t seem to be quite looking at Jean, all of the dogs seem to have something wrong. There’s a pug missing a leg, the chihuahua is so small because it’s malnourished, one of the dogs, some sort of mutt, has old scars down it’s back and legs and on it’s neck, and when he looks up at Marco the man looks...sad.

“Where did you get all of these things?” The words are out before Jean can stop himself, and he’s almost about to apologize even though it seems to have shaken Marco out of whatever sad thoughts he was dwelling on. 

The man smiles, and once again Jean is struck by how wonderful it manages to look, and he reaches down to scratch behind the ears of one of the pitbulls. “The shelter, mostly. I foster most of them, try to get them healthy enough to get a home that’s hopefully bigger than mine.” He straightens up again, looking down at Jean but Jean finds he doesn’t mind too much. “I used to walk most of them on my own, but before I noticed I had so many big dogs and, well.” He motions to the folded up sleeve, looking back at Jean with his brows raised.

Oh. Well, that makes sense. For a moment Jean assumed that he was some sort of terrible dog abuser, and he probably could still be one and he’s just lying to Jean about fostering dogs, but something tells him that Marco isn’t the sort of man to lie about things. If the sheer amount of toys are anything to go by, he loves his dogs. Jean straightens back up, almost getting barrelled over as the mastiff pushes forward, but he catches himself and Marco laughs, covering his mouth with his hand and Jean feels like he’s stumbled upon way more than he ever would have expected picking up a job as a job walker, and he feels like he’s not going to mind this at all. Sure, Marco has a shitty house that’s really far from his dorms, but his dogs are pretty great so far, and the man is unlike anyone Jean’s met before and he finds himself looking forward to getting to know Marco.

He cuts his train of thought off right there. He is not going to get googly eyed at a man he just met. The last time that happened he ended up embarrassing himself and complimenting her _hair_ and no, Jean was not going to think about how Marco had a wonderful smile and laugh and how he seemed to be one of the few genuinely nice people to exist on the planet, because Jean would have to throw himself off a cliff because that would be better than embarrassing himself to death. He will just walk his dogs and make nice and save up the money so he can have a cushion and then spend the rest on dumb, frivial things and be happy. No awkward moments at all.

But as he watches Marco pick up the three-legged pug and kiss it’s nose before tucking it under his arm and heading back to where all the leashes hang, he knows he’s doomed. That man is just too fucking cute.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suddenly, a new chapter. I have absolutely no excuse as to why this took me so long, but I will blame it on trying to catch 'em all. 
> 
> Anyways, this is a slightly longer chapter, and there's a bit with focus on Marco. I hope it is enjoyable! UvU Also, if you ever want to reach me one on one, you can find me on tumblr at "spookoniiku" for the Halloween season. (Also also, thank you for all the kudos and lovely comments! They all make me super flustered.)

It’s been about fifteen minutes since Jean left with his dogs, and Marco isn’t sure if he’s justified in feeling uneasy. Jean seems okay enough - he didn’t say anything outstandingly rude, he didn’t gawk, he didn’t seem uncomfortable with his dogs. He just seemed like...an okay kid, but Marco was still worried. Franz and Thomas could be bit of a handful - so much so that Marco had difficulties walking just one of them on his own - and then Rose was missing a leg so what if she had a hard time keeping up? 

Marco groaned, running a hand through his hair and shuffling back into his kitchen to brew some tea. Brewing tea is a process, so he doesn’t make it very often. It makes him feel a little bit selfish, but now that he has the house to himself he feels like he has all the time to do the small things he just doesn’t have the time or space for anymore. Dogs were a lot of work, and foster dogs were even more work. They were broken animals, and it was up to Marco and everyone else who took in animals from the shelter that needed more love and care than the rest to make sure they could be fixed. Marco loved fostering - he really did. He wanted to make sure all of them could find a new home, and thrive, and really, all of the dogs he took in deserved a better life and a second chance. 

And if there was anything Marco knew about, it was second chances.

He measures his tea carefully, dumping it into his cup with little ceremony. Filling his kettle takes a bit more effort, but he manages to get it filled and on the stove without dropping it or spilling _too_ much water everywhere. Now he just has to wait, and then he can enjoy tea that’s not from the corner coffee shop. (Not that their tea is bad or anything as a rule, but sometimes it can be a bit like playing a game of roulette, with some of the baristas caring more about policies than others.) Still, it’s nice to enjoy tea in the comfort of his own home, and not holding onto his cup for dear life while his co-worker-slash-carpool driver drives like a complete and total maniac on their way into work, even if trying to balance and hold onto a kettle filled with hot water can be a bit more perilous than he wants to admit.

With his tea finally steeped and ready for drinking, Marco settles at his desk. He doesn’t have much work to do - he’s an efficient worker, and most of his reports get finished at work, but he does occasionally run out of time or plans change, or there’s the bimonthly cleaning fest where his boss comes down and makes sure every single cubicle and office is completely spotless and it sucks up hours and hours of his time. Of everyone’s time, but Levi makes everyone clean their own assigned portions of the offices, and he doesn’t care that Marco has a handicap and that it takes him a bit longer to clean than everyone else. (Granted, that is one thing he likes about the short, dour man. He can’t stand is being treated like...like a cripple, and even if he supposes he is one, in a way, he’s still _capable_. He can still perform his job, he can still do day to day things, even if they take more time and effort than they should. He doesn’t need to be coddled.)

He wonders what Jean thinks about him. Logically, he know it shouldn’t matter much. He’s paying the boy to walk his dogs because he doesn’t have the time to do it, because while there’s a chance Marco’s dogs would knock him off balance, he’s certain he could still _do_ it. (He might just be a bit too stubborn to accept his shortcomings, though, which he will never admit.) The point is that Jean and him probably won’t - probably shouldn’t - have a relationship beyond Jean helping him take care of his dogs. Even if Marco would begrudgingly admit that the boy, who couldn’t be that much younger than him, considering he was in college, was pretty attractive. Sure, he had a long face, but it suited him and his features, and he was barely shorter than Marco was, and he seemed to be pretty fit. His hair even suited him, and Marco didn’t normally find two-toned undercuts all that attractive. (Not that he would ever tell Mr. Smith that, ever.) But Jean and him wouldn’t have a relationship. Marco knew that much, but he still could admit that he would like to find someone who could ignore the fact that he had one arm and one eye and that he didn’t need to be treated delicately. He knew his coworkers and his friends met well, but he wasn’t going to turn into a wreck if they mentioned anything relating to accidents, or about what he lacked. He was an adult. He could handle these things, and he really wanted someone to recognize that. He just wanted to be treated like he was normal, and even if it was a bit foolish, he wanted Jean to be someone who would do just that.

\--

Jean was pretty sure his first day could have gone better. He hadn’t lost any dogs, and none of them had gotten hurt. He hadn’t gotten bit, or scratched, or anything like that. There were no fights, hell, none of the dogs had really even growled at anything. It was more like walking a herd of angels. 

But it had started raining. He had been about ten minutes from reaching Marco’s house to drop of his dogs, get his money, and then book it out of there so he could catch the next bus to get back to his dorm, and the heavens opened. Jean was soaked instantaneously. The dogs didn’t seem to mind terribly much, but they were _dogs_ , so Jean wasn’t going to worry about them. What he worried about was the fact that he was soaked to the bone, and he’d probably have to get on the bus with sopping clothes. 

Maybe he should have brought an umbrella. Maybe he should have looked at the damn weather forecast before he left. His mother always told him that hindsight was 20-20, and it was moments like these where he understood with crystal clarity just what she meant by that. Now it was taking him even longer to get to Marco’s house, and by the time he shuffled up to the door he was certain he would never be dry again. He had mud up his calves, and his feet squished uncomfortably in his sneakers, and it didn’t even matter that it had started raining less than twenty minutes ago. It was raining hard and fast, and Jean wanted to wrap himself up in blankets and pretend this never happened. 

When Marco opened the door, it was like an angel had appeared. He could press inside and drop the leashes, which is precisely what he did. The other man seemed startled, but he closed the door beside Jean and motioned for him to step inside. Jean was pretty sure the man was some sort of saint, because he was looking at Jean all soft and concerned-like, and then he was bustling away and coming back with an armful of towels. He dropped most of them on the couch, and before Jean could react or ask what he was doing he was draping one over his shoulders. “Are you alright?” he asks in a way Jean knew would destroy lesser men, and all he could do was nod as his teeth decided now would be the best time to chatter together uncontrollably. It does score him another warm, concerned look, so maybe that wasn’t really a bad thing. He doesn’t know Marco very well - or at all - but being looked at like that is very, very nice, and maybe metamorphosing into a drowned rat isn’t a horrible fate if he can keep getting looks like that. 

“Do you want to stay until you dry up?” Marco looks at him with that same look, and then glancing over at the clock. Jean follows his eyes, and he knows that the buses will run for a few more hours, so he should be okay. It does mean staying in a stranger’s house, but considering that Marco has a stupid, cute face and his entire existence seems determined to make Jean weak in the knees, that’s a good thing. 

He nods, clearing his throat. “Yeah...Yeah, I think that would be great. Good, I mean.” One day he will not make a complete fool of himself in front of people, and he curses himself. “Don’t want to get on the bus like this, after all.” The other man smiles, small and sweet, and then he’s making his way over the kitchen and calling over his shoulder and saying he was about to make himself dinner, and that Jean can have some too, if he wants. Jean didn’t know there was anyone in the world this kind except for Krista, a small blonde in his biology class who was too nice to be believed, and he knows he has struck the proverbial gold mine. He has found the best possible catch in the world. Someone who could be anyone’s better half because he’s just a better person than anyone else could be. 

He is fucked. He is so completely, overwhelmingly fucked.

\--

When Jean leaves, he’s past cloud nine. Dinner with Marco was delicious, and there was something about the man that made everything feel comfortable and familiar. He still had absolutely no idea what to say or do around the man, and he always felt like if he said anything on his mind he’d ruin everything. He knows he’s blunt, and being blunt has gotten him into more fist fights than he can count. He figures Marco isn’t the kind of man who throws a punch when he gets upset or offended, but Marco is also obviously different from the people Jean normally associates with him. Watching his tongue put him on edge and made him more flustered than usual, but the looks Marco gave him all dripped with patience and understanding. For what, Jean didn’t know, but he had a feeling it was for all of Jean’s awkward, clipped words. He probably got treated like he was fragile, Jean thought guiltily, his good mood quickly turning sour. He seemed resilient, and being treated like he could break apart at anything probably frustrated him. 

Jean groans, throwing himself into his bed. He’s a moron. He got himself so worried that Marco probably thinks he’s someone that he’s not, and Jean doesn’t want that. At all. He wants Marco to know who is is, and so he decides that next Tuesday, when he goes to walk the dogs next, he will do his best to be relaxed and not worry about hurting anyone’s feelings. It may or may not backfire, but he figures it’s worth a shot. Maybe Marco will appreciate it. Maybe the pitbulls will be sicced on him. Either way, he won’t find out until Tuesday, so he might as well suck it up until then.

**Author's Note:**

> Also also, I apologize how short this chapter (and no doubt the rest of them) is, but I'm not very good at knowing how much to add before moving on to the next chapter. Splitting things up more than they should be is my downfall, but at least that means there will be a lot of chapters?!
> 
> Haaaaah.


End file.
